


Music to my Ears

by yee_haw23



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, Musician Crowley (Good Omens), Young Love, angst lite really, this bad boy jumps all over the place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22810912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yee_haw23/pseuds/yee_haw23
Summary: “‘M scared we won’t be able to keep contact,” Crowley mumbled against Aziraphale’s cheek, “I know you and technology. And I’ll be moving so much I don’t know if we can write letters.”Aziraphale kissed him again, with more fervor than before, “My dear, I will always find my way back to you. You’re meant for me, of that I’m sure.”***Nearly twenty years he’d waited and finally, finally, he was back with him. The crowd roared and Aziraphale heard the handle rattling and muffled thank you’s before Crowley slipped in, leaning breathless against the door, head hung downward for a moment.“I never thought I’d see you again,” Aziraphale’s voice came out a broken whisper, barely audible above the noise outside the door.Or losing contact with the love of your life and the circumstances that lead you back to them.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 78





	Music to my Ears

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, y'all! It has been ages since I've published a fic anywhere (2012 to be specific) but this fic idea just would not leave my head. Something about this fandom awoke the monster in me. I wrote it in a fever dream state between 10 pm and 3 am and there's no beta so rip. Drop a comment with what you do or don't like! Kudos are always appreciated.
> 
> edit: i updated the format so it didn't look horrendous (i uploaded this originally at 3 am while jet-lagged and apparently forgot to do any form of formatting whatsoever)

Wednesday, 2020

Aziraphale was proud of the life he built for himself. Using the inheritance he’d received from his uncle, he’d been able to run a successful business despite having a degree in literature; he met Bee while they were looking for cookbooks in the shop and acquired the cafe next to his shop, which they helped run these days; and he’d even been able to start collecting the first editions of his favorite books.

So Aziraphale was proud and often told himself he was happy with his life. But somedays, when he closed up and retired to his flat above the shop, he felt something was missing. A very small voice in the back of his head whispered something about wanting adventure, excitement. But he had a business to run and, if he was being frank, his home had all the adventure he needed wrapped neatly between hardcovers.

(He’d been adventurous, once. Ages ago, before he’d left for university. But after drifting apart from  _ him, _ he’d lost his spark, which was not something he would ever admit out loud.)

As he sat at his till arguing over his happiness with the little voice in his head, he missed the tell-tale ringing of the bell above the shop door. It wasn’t until he heard a man loudly clearing his throat right in front of him that he realized he’d been so distracted.

Aziraphale started at the noise, “Oh, my apologies, sir! Must have gotten lost in my daydreams,” he smiled tightly and gave a small laugh, “How can I help you?”

The man gave a tight-lipped smile in return, “The name’s Gabriel Arch, I’m a manager for music artists,” Gabriel stuck his hand out across the counter in order to, judging by his accent, give an entirely too firm American handshake, which Aziraphale reluctantly gave, “One particular demon of a client is looking to do a secret show,” he looked expectantly at Aziraphale.

“A secret show? What’s the point of hosting a show if you don’t tell anyone?” Confusion etched itself across Aziraphale’s face.

Gabriel gave a hearty yet eerily hollow laugh, “No, Mister…” he trailed off.

“Fell. Aziraphale Fell.”

“Mr. Fell, a secret show just hides who the artist is-- have you seriously never heard of a secret show?” Aziraphale thought for a moment, he genuinely never had, though he hadn’t been much for concerts in the first place, he much preferred intimate displays of music, “Well regardless, I noticed you have a nice little stage in the shop window,” Gabriel tilted his head in the direction of the stage behind Aziraphale.

“Oh, yes! Though I don’t believe anyone has gotten up there in quite a while. We used to host an open mic night, you see--”

“Right, well, I think it would be perfect for my client. All he needs is space for his guitar and violin, and you already have the piano there.”

Aziraphale fixed his gaze on the piano, “It’s been a while since it’s been used, I may have to tune it,” It had been a while since he’d done that as well ( _ Over fifteen years now _ , the small voice whispered to him) but he still remembered how.

“Would you be interested, then? We would, of course, pay. You would probably have to close shop a little early so our sound guys could get in here and rig everything they need to, but with the cost of renting the place it will likely cover the cost of closing early,” Gabriel talked quickly and with purpose; as though he had already heard a resounding yes from Aziraphale.

“Well, hold on now, what day? And when? Would this really be enough space?” There was a generous amount of room in front of the stage, currently occupied with a seating area for his customers to read their purchases and enjoy the pastries they purchased through the archway next to the stage, but hardly enough for a crowd.

“It would be two days from now, Friday night. I know it’s short notice but, again, we’ll be paying quite a bit. Probably start up at about 7 so we’d need to be in here setting up and sound checking by 5. The space is fine, my client is looking for an intimate space anyway. And no need to worry about your merchandise,” he gestured towards the books, “we’ll have some security posted to keep fan attention on the talent, not the books,” he laughed loudly and hollowly again, “So, do we have a deal?”

Aziraphale wrung his hands behind the counter, “Well let me talk to my associate next door, they do have a say in this as well, if you’ll excuse me,” he gave another small smile as he went through the arch and into Sinful Sweets.

“Hiya,” Bee unenthusiastically greeted Aziraphale without looking up from their phone.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, “Bee, a man just came in and has given us a proposition.”

Bee’s head shot up immediately, “Proposition? Like a sex thing or a crime thing?”

“Lord, Bee! Neither! He wants to host a concert here on Friday.”

“Concert? For who?”

“Didn’t bother asking-- it’s not likely  _ I’ll _ know who it is. The musicians I listen to have been dead for quite some time.”

“Friday night, you said?” Bee hopped off their stool and came around the counter, “Well I s’pose I’ve got nothin’ going on, and I’ll get a free concert. You want me to watch the place right?”

Aziraphale smiled, a genuine, warm smile, “Oh that’d be lovely! I would, of course, come down to lock up the shop but loud music and large groups aren’t quite my forte anymore, you see.”

“Yeah, course I’ll do it. You can read your books and drink your wine or whatever you do up there at night,” Bee leaned against the counter, “Maybe if the musician’s any good looking, I’ll make ‘em stick around,” they wagged their eyebrows at him, smirking like the devil.

“Oh hush, I’m perfectly content with my books and my wine,” he lightly smacked their shoulder while they feigned pained and spun back to the shop, “Mr. Arch,” Gabriel held up a finger, having seemingly taken a call.

“Yeah, well tell his bratty ass that we’ve got a show this Friday and it’s the stupid intimate type he was looking for,” he rubbed between his eyebrows listening to the response of his caller, “You know what, just put him on the phone.”

Aziraphale stood awkwardly, feeling the frustration pouring out of Gabriel. He put his hands behind his back and began to wring them once again.

“Yes, hello, your highness, listen--” Gabriel rolled his eyes and raised his voice, “AJ shut up for two seconds. I’ve got a venue. You’ll have your little intimate show. I’ve done you a favor, so do me one and stop being a pain in the ass. Just do the shoot you’ve been scheduled to do,” Another pause, “Yes, small, intimate, in Soho as you requested… Okay, great, now do your job, AJ. Buh-bye,” he let out an exasperated sigh, “Apologies, that was the demon talent I work for. Won’t stop complaining about playing bigger venues and having to do interviews and photoshoots. Claims it feels “superficial”,” he heaved another sigh, “So we have a deal then, yeah?”

“Uh, yes. The only condition being that Bee sticks around just to make sure everything is in order.”

“Yeah that’s fine,” he started towards the armchairs, placing his bag on the table and motioning for Aziraphale to follow, “We just need to sign some contracts-- legal stuff.”

Gabriel went over the contracts with him, non-disclosures and safety precautions mostly, and they signed and dated them all.

“Well,” Gabriel stood, extending his hand for a handshake once again, “pleasure meeting you, Aziraphale. I’m sure AJ will be thrilled with the venue,” he clapped Aziraphale’s shoulder roughly and gave that same empty smile.

“Right. Pleasure, Mr. Arch. See you Friday.”

The tiny voice started up again,  _ He said AJ? It could be… couldn’t it? _ But Aziraphale crushed the thought before it could bloom into hope. He’d spent years after college searching for Crowley, he wasn’t going to let that hope crush him again.

* * *

Thursday, 2020

Crowley plastered a fake smile on his face as he listened to the two interviews on the couch ramble about his background to the cameras. This is what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? To be recognized and noticed.

_ Not by them. _

He stifled the sulking voice and spread himself a little more on the couch, aiming to appear nonchalant about the things they were saying-- not that he was listening anyway.

One of the worst parts of being somewhat famous was the boring daytime interviews, but Gabriel insisted that they provided good exposure. And if he wanted bigger stadiums he needed exposure. Truthfully, Crowley shied away from large stadiums. He played in front of hundreds of people before, but it felt worse to him than his performances to twenty.

“So, AJ,” Crowley smirked to hide a scowl, he hated that stage name, but Gabriel insisted, “you’ve found some success in the past decade. What motivates you?”

“I’d be a fool if I didn’t say my fans, yeah?” They all fake laughed together, “‘Side from that, I just love music. And I love being able to share it with others. ’S a pretty good motivator.”

“So no passionate lovers that make you want to do what you do?”

_ If only you knew _ . He barked out a laugh, trying to curb the bitterness, “Not exactly, no.”

“I ask because you seem to write about some lover you had once, she seems to have quite the effect on you.”

_ He _ . “Ah yeah. I also pull from literature a lot,”  _ Hoping he’ll notice _ , “Especially Renaissance and Romantic poets.”

“Oh yes, your songwriting skills are quite something. Do you have plans to play in bigger stadiums? I know some people who would be just elated if they found out you’d be in a bigger arena.”

_ Hopefully not _ . “Well, that all depends. Those aren’t the decisions I make. I just play the music and my manager books the venues.”

“Right, you only do so much. Do you like touring?”

_ God, no. _ “I love being able to see my fans across the country and, if I’m lucky, the globe. ’S the best feeling to be able to see people who love what you do almost as much as you do.”

“Just one last question for our segment, it’s been lovely having you, why do you think you’ve been so successful?”

_ Dumb blind luck. A cruel fate. God wants to laugh at me. _ “Tha’s an interesting question. Don’t get that one often. Uh, I would have to say, to some degree, talent. Couldn’t get anywhere if I wasn’t any good at music. Other than that, I think I have a passion that people can feel. I don’t try to be anyone but myself on stage and that comes through, I think. ‘S authentic and genuine and I think it makes people want to hear what I have to sing.”

“Oh lovely answer, well it’s been an honor, AJ.”

“Oh the privilege is mine, thank you.”

They cut to commercial and Crowley’s usually sour expression washed over his face once again. _You get your intimate performance tomorrow. Just a day away._ _And maybe…_ No. 

“Sorry, what?” One of the hosts was looking at him strangely.

“Hmm? What?”

“I asked if you enjoyed the segment? You said no.”

“Oh no, sorry, I was lost in thought. Yeah, ‘s fine,” he gave a small smile.  _ Not genuine. _

He made his way back to his dressing room, frustrated and tired. It’d been eighteen years since he’d last seen his angel. Eighteen years since he started this career. They’d wanted to make it work so much but it just slipped away. Now he was stuck feeling like there could be more to his life if he’d just hung around for a while longer. He could have had both Aziraphale and his career. Yet now he was a lonely, nearly forty-year-old man, writing songs about a love he’d be chasing until he died.

* * *

Winter 2001

Aziraphale’s uncle left for some work-related event and lamented leaving the boy over Christmas, even with constant reassurance that he would be just fine. The promise of an entire week alone with the ability to have Crowley over every day made Aziraphale’s heart skip a beat.

Aziraphale had gotten to work tuning the piano when he felt hands wrap around his waist, “Hi angel,” he pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s neck.

“Anthony J. Crowley, you will be the death of me,” he gripped at the arms wrapped around him and laughed, turning to capture his lips in a kiss, “I’m trying to work on part of your Christmas gift you would be so kind.”

Crowley plopped down next to him, “Part, huh? You spoil me.”

“That I do, dear,” Crowley snorted, “What?”

“Makes me laugh when you call me dear. Makes you sound eighty not eighteen.”

“Oh ha ha, yes the old man card,” Aziraphale began his work on the last few strings, “would you rather me call you wily little demon?”

“No, no, I love dear,” he pressed a kiss to his temple, “‘S just funny.”

“Well,” he finished the final string, “why don’t you make it up to me by playing something.”

“For you? I learned something special,” Crowley raised his eyebrows and smirked. His fingers found the keys and he began playing a jazzy melody.

“ _ There goes my baby _

_ He knows how to rock 'n' roll _

_ He drives me crazy _

_ He gives me hot and cold fever _

_ Then he leaves me in a cool cool sweat _ ”

Aziraphale watched as Crowley intently pounded at the keys, biting his lip in focus, fingers deftly finding their place.

“ _ I gotta be cool, relax, get hip _

_ And get on my track's _

_ Take a back seat, hitch-hike _

_ And take a long ride on my motorbike _

_ Until I'm ready _

_ Crazy little thing called love _ ”

“Hmmm so that one’s for me, huh? Not for you and your love for Queen,” Aziraphale pinched at Crowley’s thigh, laughing.

“Bit of both, I’ll admit, what about you, you have something to share?”

“A poem, I most certainly wrote,” Aziraphale pulled out a slip of paper, clearing his throat, “Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds--”

“Oi tha’s not you tha’s Shakespeare!”

“No it’s me, swear,” Aziraphale continued laughing along with Crowley, “Or bends with the remover to remove

O no; it is an ever fixed mark -- stop laughing and listen, you insolent boy -- that looks on tempests and is never shaken,” Aziraphale struggled to continue on without laughing, allowing little giggles to pass through nearly ever word, “ It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken,” the pair fell into a fit of laughter, falling onto one another.

As they pulled themselves, Crowley smacked Aziraphale’s thigh, “At least I learned mine genuinely, you little thief.”

“Yes but I’m your little thief,” Aziraphale pressed a quick kiss onto Crowley’s cheek.

“I did learn a song for you though genuinely,” Crowley turned back to the piano, playing a much softer and still jazzy song.

“ _ I get no kick from champagne, _

_ Mere alcohol, _

_ Doesn't thrill me at all, _

_ So tell me, why should it be true, _

_ That I get a kick out of you. _ ”

Aziraphale smiled softly, laying his head on Crowley’s shoulder, “I think you might be the best thing that’s happened to me.”

“Hm, I sure hope so.”

* * *

Friday, 2020

_ “Aziraphale, get over here,” Aziraphale could see the flaming red locks darting between trees, laughing as he went. _

_ “Crowley, wait, please,” he ran after him. After running for what felt like ages, he heard the laughter all around him. Taking a moment to look at his surroundings he noticed he’d become enveloped by the woods. Completely unsure of his direction, “Crowley?” A sense of urgency rang through his call. _

_ He felt a pressure against his back, arms wrapping around his waist, Crowley’s voice whispering in his ear, “I’m here, angel. I’ve got you.”  _

_ They stood this way for what felt like infinity until Crowley broke the silence with a kiss to Aziraphale’s neck and a husky whisper, “Come find me, angel, please.” _

Aziraphale woke hazily, half expecting to turn to see Crowley’s sleepy grin and bed head beside him, but lamented in his reality. Though the little voice in the back of his mind was practically singing praises. Aziraphale had this dream sometimes, less so as the years passed, but it never ended like this.  _ Maybe it’s time, maybe it’s a sign from the angels. _ Aziraphale was too groggy to argue with the little hopeful voice and set about making his tea and breakfast.

As he fried his eggs, Aziraphale started going through his to-do list for the day: he, of course, had to prep the pastries for the day; with the concert tonight, he’d have to move a couple of the chairs into the other nooks among the bookshelves; he’d need to make sure the tuning he’d done on the piano yesterday was holding up (perhaps that’s what caused him to have that dream again); and he did have to do inventory on the children’s section.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but let his mind wander back to Crowley. If, and it was a hard if, this performer happened to be Crowley, he was certain that they would barely recognize each other-- it’d been well over fifteen years ( _ Eighteen years and 128 days, but we’re not counting _ ) and they’d both probably changed so much.

Besides, it was probably wishful thinking. London was a big city and Aziraphale’s efforts to find the one that got away proved fruitless year after year. At any rate, he’d made sure he would be plenty distracted during the show anyway-- there was no need to give in to that little blossom of hope. He’d made reservations at his favorite little sushi restaurant and he planned on enjoying his evening before having to clean up after whatever the attendees of this concert mucked up.

While prepping the pastries for the day, Aziraphale’s mind began to wander yet again. Had Crowley changed any? Did he still have those crimson waves? Did his eyes still ooze like honey when the sun hit them just right? Would he still make Aziraphale’s heart skip a beat?  _ Will he still call me angel? _

Lost in his hopeless daydreaming, Bee snuck around to the till, “Morning, ‘Ziraphale.”

“Good God!” Aziraphale clutched at his sweater, “You snuck up on me, Bee, that’s hardly a way to start off the day.”

A smirk played on their face, “Sorry, couldn’t help it. You seemed a little lost in space. Had to bring you back to Earth,” their face got serious for a moment, “Are you okay? Seem a bit stressed.” When Aziraphale hesitated, Bee filled in the gap themself, “Nervous about the concert? You know I won’t let anything happen to the shop.”

“No, of course, you wouldn’t, I trust you. I am nervous I suppose. We’ve not done something like this in years.”

“It’ll be perfectly fine,” Bee took their position on the stool by the till, “‘sides, it’s good exposure.”

A small, warm smile spread across Aziraphale’s face, “Good exposure, yes.”

And with that, the pair went about their standard daily duties. Aziraphale helped a good number of books find a new home, moved the chairs around to allow more room in front of the counter, and did inventory on the children’s books. Before he realized it, it was six and Gabriel was storming into the shop giving orders to the technicians behind him.

“Aziraphale, lovely to see you. Quick question, where does that door behind the register lead to?”

“Oh, um, it’s a hall to the stairway of my flat.”

“Mind if we use it for the performance? AJ’ll need a place to hide before coming out and that’d be the perfect place. Let’s him stay as the center of attention and gives a natural barrier,” it hardly seemed that Aziraphale could argue with the man so he nodded quickly, assuring it was fine.

He locked up the till and watched as men and women began setting up the stage, noticing a young man strumming a guitar in one of the armchairs left in the area. Aziraphale approached him, allowing his hope to die slowly as he smiled, “Excuse me, sir,” the man looked up at him and smiled, “are you performing tonight?”

“Yeah, it’s a great opportunity. Thank you for letting us do the show here. It’s a nice place,” he gave a warm smile. He hardly seemed the demon that Gabriel made him out to be, “And you’re?”

“Aziraphale Fell, apologies for not introducing myself,” he smiled sheepishly.

“No matter. Name’s Adam,” so that’s the A then, “I’ve got to warm-up, we’ll be doing sound checks soon. It was nice meeting you.”

Aziraphale tried not to let the disappointment hit him too hard. Of course it wasn’t going to be Crowley. The initals AJ were incredibly common. The fact that Aziraphale even for a second fed the hope that there was even a possibility that Crowley would be playing in his shop was preposterous. He made a quick goodbye to Bee and headed out the door, tears stinging at his eyes.

The evening was still young, he could at least enjoy his sushi and sake and forget about the foolish fantasy of finding Crowley once again.

* * *

Crowley pulled his Bentley to the curb and sized the venue up. Certainly small and intimate like he’d requested of Gabriel. And just the kind of spot Aziraphale might frequent in Soho. He’d remembered how much he’d loved going to quiet, relaxed bars. Preferring a hidden pub over a club any day.

“Apple of Eden and Sinful Sweets, huh? What a combo,” he slipped his sunglasses onto his neckline and sauntered in, a cool thirty minutes late per usual.

He saw Adam, his set opener, on stage, already doing his soundcheck. The kid was going places, that was for sure. He wandered the shelves a bit perusing the items. He’d found a shelf of rare first editions, some of Aziraphale’s favorites. He’d have to ask the owner about buying them when they came round. As he rounded one of the bookshelves, he spotted Gabriel giving orders to the techs running around and sauntered over.

“Hey, Gabriel, how’s it goin’?”

“Late as usual. Do you even want to perform well? There’s no time to soundcheck you because you’re so goddamn late. Get into this hallway,” Gabriel started pushing him towards the door behind the counter.

“Woah, hallway, what are you, ngk--” Gabriel shut the door behind them, “‘S not fair”

“You’re staying in here until showtime, do not leave. You’ll return here after the set and before the encore, you have the setlist?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, don’t move.”

Crowley didn’t do well in holding tanks. He began wandering the lengths of the hall. It was plainly decorated with a staircase leading to a door. Hanging from the door, pressed in a glass, was a dried forget-me-not. Crowley slowly walked up the stairs. He had one nearly like this hanging in his own flat.

_ Could it be? Does he live here? _

Now’s not the time. Crowley climbed back down the stairs and sat at the base scrolling on his phone until he was called onto stage. That small little bud of hope nursing itself into a full-fledged dream.

* * *

Stomach full of sushi (and more than enough sake) and head cleared of sadness, Aziraphale started tottering back home. If he’d timed it right, he’d be arriving just as the show was finishing and be able to clean up promptly and head off to read his book and drink his wine. He stumbled to the door of Sinful Sweets, unlocking and stepping in to see Bee peering out of the archway.

They turned their head and motioned him over, “This one’s a looker Aziraphale,” Bee’s eyes lit up, “you’re just in time for the encore.”

Aziraphale cocked his head at Bee, unable to make the question of how they thought he could be with a boy so young. Adam had scarcely seemed older than twenty, hardly appropriate for a man rapidly approaching forty. He was so focused on trying to get the words out of his mouth, he’d missed the cheers next to him when AJ returned to the stage.

“Ah, yeah, yeah, you all knew I was coming back up here don’t act like you didn’t,” a familiar voice rang throughout the shops, sobering Aziraphale immediately.

Memories of tangled hands running through the streets of Soho, quiet kisses shared in alleys, bodies wrapped around one another in the countryside, pointing at the stars, playful splashes as they played in the ocean off the coast, hushed promises of love rushed back to Aziraphale in an instant. His breath quickened with his heart as he grappled with the realization that the one who got away wasn’t so far away anymore ( _ Come find me, angel _ ).

_ I knew it. I knew it. _ Aziraphale stepped cautiously out of the archway to look at the man on stage, finding the same vibrant red hair and the lopsided smirk he’d spent years daydreaming about. As he stepped toward the stage, Crowley locked eyes with him, mouth dropping open just a bit.

“Ngk- Now, um, I, uh--” Crowley suddenly seemed flustered as a wide grin took over his face, “Um, sorry, I normally play my originals for my encores, but uh, ’s a song I didn’t get to tonight that I, uh, think would be fitting. Uh, ’s a cover. So, here goes,” he shot a wink at Aziraphale and grabbed the violin next to him and the crowd went wild, “Okay, you all know what this one is, clearly. First, I’ll have to set up for the chorus and such so, you know how that goes.”

Crowley began playing a few melodies and pressing something with his foot every now and then until he was satisfied, “I’ve been playing this for years now but, uh, I don’t think I’ve ever dedicated it to someone. So here’s to my angel. Right, ready then?” The question was directed at Aziraphale who nodded subtly, “Here goes.”

The song began quickly, the tempo fast, yet melancholic, the crowd clapping along to the beat. Suddenly, he put the violin to his sides and his voice rang out, sending shivers down Aziraphale’s spine. He’d spent years listening to that voice serenade him, watched as his fingers plucked strings and pressed keys, stumbling to get it all right, and now, now, he looked a perfect vision. Confident, comfortable, and passionate.

“ _ Years ago, when I was younger _

_ I kinda liked a boy I knew _

_ He was mine and we were sweethearts _

_ That was then but then it's true _ ”

He locked eyes with Aziraphale before belting out the chorus, trying to convey his every emotion into those notes.

_ “I'm in love with a fairytale, even though it hurts _

_ Cause I don't care if I lose my mind _

_ I'm already cursed” _

The violin returned to its place under his chin and he played the same vibrant tune and Aziraphale could feel the tears well in his eyes. They were a fairytale no longer. He was finally there in the flesh.

_ “Every day we started fighting _

_ Every night we fell in love _

_ No one else could make me sadder _

_ But no one else could lift me high above _

_ I don't know what I was doin' but suddenly we fell apart _

_ Nowadays I cannot find him” _

The heat between them was nearly palpable as they made eye contact.

“ _ But when I do we'll get a brand new start _ ,” he broke eye contact with him addressing the crowd once more, “everybody now.” As the small crowd began singing the chorus, Crowley gestured to the door leading to Aziraphale’s flat. Quickly as he could, Aziraphale made his way to the door, assuring security he did, in fact, own the place and just wanted to get to his flat. His heart raced as he closed the door behind him leaning against one of the walls.

Nearly twenty years he’d waited and finally, finally, he was back with him. The crowd roared and Aziraphale heard the handle rattling and muffled thank you’s before Crowley slipped in, leaning breathless against the door, head hung downward for a moment.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” Aziraphale’s voice came out a broken whisper, barely audible above the noise outside the door.

Crowley’s eyes snapped up to meet his, face forlorn.

* * *

Summer, 2002

The warm summer night air wrapped itself around the two teenagers’ bodies as they cuddled close to each other on their blanket looking up at the stars. A bouquet of forget-me-nots laying beside them.

“You know, you don’t have to leave for uni,” Crowley whispered into Aziraphale’s ear, pressing lazy kisses on his head and neck as space allowed him.

“Right and what? Be your groupie?” Aziraphale laughed softly as Crowley squeezed his thigh.

“Maybe. What’s so wrong with that?”

“Well, nothing. But I do want to make some kind of living. And who else would be able to help you write than your literature expert boyfriend, hmm?”

“‘Spose you’ve a point there,” Crowley positioned himself on top of Aziraphale and continued kissing down his neck, unbuttoning his shirt to give him access to his chest, “‘S just that I’m gonna miss you”

“Mmmm and I, you,” Aziraphale caught Crowley’s chin and lifted his lips to meet his own.

“‘M scared we won’t be able to keep contact,” Crowley mumbled against Aziraphale’s cheek, “I know you and technology. And I’ll be moving so much I don’t know if we can write letters.”

Aziraphale kissed him again, with more fervor than before, “My dear, I will always find my way back to you. You’re meant for me, of that I’m sure,” he pressed kisses all over Crowley’s face, who couldn’t help but laugh.

Crowley caught his lips with his own once more, “I love you, angel.”

“I love you too.”

* * *

Crowley could feel the tears brimming in his eyes, “I will always find my way back to you, angel.”

Aziraphale laughed softly, letting the tears trail down his face, “You’re meant for me, of that I’m sure,” he stepped tentatively towards Crowley, desperately wanting to hold him.

Crowley surged forward, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale and digging his face into his neck, hiding his tears and inhaling the familiar scent of his love, “I’ve missed you.”

Aziraphale pressed his lips to the side of Crowley’s head on instinct, whispering against his head, “I’ve missed you more, my dear.” The pair stayed wrapped in one another’s arms for a moment when Aziraphale finally broke the silence, “Is it incredibly selfish that I want nothing more than to kiss you?”

Crowley pulled himself up, eyes burning into Aziraphale’s as he pushed him against the wall, “Hardly,” he kissed Aziraphale as though they were nineteen again as if nothing had changed. The softness of having Aziraphale pressed into his body, their lips slotting together perfectly.

Aziraphale nipped at Crowley’s lower lip, prompting him to moan, granting Aziraphale’s tongue to slide into Crowley’s once familiar mouth. He gripped at Crowley’s hair, tilting his head to give him better access.

Crowley let out an honest to god whimper and felt his knees go weak. They broke apart for air, resting their foreheads against one another.

“ Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle’s compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved,” Aziraphale repeated the memorized sonnet breathlessly.

“Angel, what is that?”

“Winter 2001. I recited the first part. You--”

“Knew it was Shakespeare immediately,” he smiled knowingly at Aziraphale, pressing a kiss on his lips quickly, “I remember. I remember forget-me-nots being pressed in the pages of your Oscar Wilde books. Lips brushing secretly in your bedroom while I ‘tutored’ you. Singing Frank Sinatra to you. Writing you poetry in the margins of my notes. I write my songs about you now.”

“I only wish I’d known sooner, my love.”

“We have the rest of our lives for knowing now, angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> I do have other WIPs that won't be published until later (most likely) bc I'm a perfectionist to my core. Something was screaming to push send on this one though. The songs/sonnets referenced in order: "Crazy Little Thing Called Love" by Queen (love), "Sonnet 116" by Shakespeare (the time motif is what gets me), "I Get A Kick Out of You" by Frank Sinatra, and "Fairytale" by Alexander Rybak


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